by Chris Ryan
The bike swerved around a goat. Alex shifted his weight to do the same but nothing happened. The rickshaw steered like a dinosaur. The goat saw doom approaching and hurried out of the way, its eyes rolling.
The motorbike had slowed to get through a narrow gap between two buses. Both were fully loaded with passengers who spilled out of the windows, making the vehicles rock like boats on choppy waters. Alex swerved onto the pavement to pass by. He felt the bump as the wheels mounted the kerb, then an even bigger bump that nearly tipped him over as he came back down. He fought the tall handlebars again and had to slow up. The rickshaw lurched to the side again and stayed there.
Had he got a flat tyre? Alex glanced over his shoulder.
He hadn’t run over anything; he’d acquired a passenger. A tall man with the beginnings of a paunch and big white teeth, a Hawaiian shirt and a baseball cap grinned at him. ‘Holiday Inn,’ he said in an American accent, and settled back. The movement pulled the front wheel off the slippery ground.
Alex sighed. ‘I’m not taking passengers,’ he called.
Something slapped him on the back. The American had hit him with his baseball cap. ‘Holiday Inn, and step on it.’
Steel entered Alex’s soul. The blow wasn’t hard, but it was intensely rude. He accelerated away. Right, he thought. You’re coming with me.
Another flick. ‘The Holiday Inn’s the other way.’
Alex ignored him. The courier turned his bike into a side street. A taxi was coming and Alex leaned on the horn then swerved in front of it, missing the bonnet by a whisker. One of his back wheels came off the road and the whole bike tilted. His passenger was a big unbalancing lump of ballast.
Flick. The hat came down again. ‘Are you some kind of a nut? You nearly had me off.’ Flick. ‘You! Are you listening?’
Ahead, the road was blocked by a huge train. For a moment Alex goggled at it. Then he realized they were at the station. The tracks were hidden by the water.
‘Don’t think I’m giving you a tip,’ said the voice behind him.
The courier zipped sharply to the left and Alex lumbered after him. The back end of the rickshaw swung violently like a giant, heavy tail. There was a splash, and suddenly the bike felt light again; Alex shot forward. He grappled with the upright handlebars to steady it. When he glanced back, the passenger was on his hands and knees in the water.
Alex grinned. ‘Don’t worry about the tip,’ he called.
Free of his burden, he roared up to the station entrance, a grand building like a gothic cathedral. The courier was dropping off his bike at a hire stall. Then he unclamped the cool box and ran in through the gothic archway.
Alex parked the rickshaw, hid the keys under the seat and splashed after him. Running through the water was easier than driving. When he bounded up the steps onto dry land he felt suddenly free.
The courier was running to one of the platforms. Alex followed him, dodging families who squatted on the concourse with large cloth bundles of belongings. The courier jumped onto a train that was belching grey diesel fumes into the rafters, ready to go. The whistle blew as Alex pounded through the barrier. The train began to move. Alex sprinted, fast. He reached an open door, grabbed the handle and swung in.
Gasping for breath in the space between the compartments, he took out his phone.
24
THE END OF THE LINE
The bathroom in the hostel was going to be occupied for quite some time. Li was having the longest shower of her life.
Amber, Hex and Paulo sat in the bedroom discussing what she had told them.
‘That cool box had eyes in it?’ said Amber.
‘And Li saw Chopra with another lot of money,’ said Paulo. ‘So he’s selling the eyes of random bodies who turn up at the morgue.’
‘Why would anyone sell eyes?’ said Amber.
‘Why would anyone buy eyes?’ said Hex. He was already tapping on his keyboard. ‘There’s only one way to find out – Aha. Transplants. And there’s a huge shortage of donor eyes.’
Amber nearly gagged. ‘They transplant whole eyes?’
‘No,’ said Hex. ‘Just the cornea: the transparent flesh at the front. It covers the iris and the pupil. If it gets diseased you go blind. A cornea transplant literally opens the curtains again.’
Paulo was also finding the idea hard going. ‘But eyes from dead bodies? Bodies that have been in the water all night, or found in the street? Don’t donors have to at least be – er – fresh?’
Hex was reading from a website. ‘Harvesting an eye . . . blah blah blah . . . must be done within six hours of death. It can be done anywhere with simple instruments.’ He looked up. ‘So you don’t need an operating theatre. Just whip the eye out.’
Amber winced. ‘Yes, thank you, Hex, we get the picture.’
Hex noticed her discomfort. ‘Get a spoon. Ping. Out it comes like a billiard ball.’
‘Yes, thank you, Hex,’ said Amber, more fiercely.
Hex continued to paraphrase the website. ‘They can be stored in special eye banks. When a donor cornea is needed, it is carefully removed from the eye’ – he glanced at Amber – ‘with something like a potato peeler – and transported to—’
‘Stop, stop, stop!!’ She buried her face in her hands and shook her head.
Hex grinned at her and prepared to play his trump card, a gruesome picture on the website. But then his phone bleeped with a message. He looked at the screen. ‘It’s Alex . . . he’s on a train.’
‘A train?’ said Paulo. ‘Going where?’
‘He doesn’t say – must still be following the courier.’
‘How’s Alex getting lost going to help us find Bina?’ asked Amber.
‘Think about it,’ said Hex. ‘It’s part of the black market in organs, right? There’s Trilok, who sells kidneys, and there’s Chopra, who sells eyes. Chopra helps Trilok keep out of trouble. Now suppose Chopra is helping him hide Bina? Where would be a nice, secure, out-of-the-way place? A nice, secure medical establishment. Which is no doubt where the courier is headed.’
Li came in, combing her fingers through her wet hair. She was back in her normal clothes.
‘I get it,’ said Paulo. ‘The eye bank where Chopra makes regular deposits.’
Li sat on the bed. ‘But it might be miles away. Bina must be quite close to here because she has to be brought back for the operation.’
Hex texted Alex: ‘TRAIN 2 WHERE?’
He got an answer back promptly. ‘COLOMBO FORT. STOPPING TRAIN.’
Paulo spread a map on the bed. With his fingers he traced the railway line. ‘Chennai to Colombo Fort . . .’ He looked at Hex. ‘He can’t be. Colombo Fort is in Sri Lanka.’
For a moment the room was silent. Alex couldn’t be going all the way to Sri Lanka, surely?
Hex had a brainwave. ‘Wait a minute. Alex said it’s the stopping train. If the bike guy was going all the way to Sri Lanka he’d take an express. After all, he’s got to get his eyes in the fridge.’ Amber glared at him but he carried on. ‘But stopping trains are for people who aren’t going very far.’
Amber finished the thought for him. ‘He’s getting off at a local station. He’s not going very far at all.’
‘Exactly,’ said Hex. His phone bleeped again. Alex had sent another text: ‘TELL DRIVER RICKSHAW AT STN. KEYS WEDGED INSIDE SEAT COVER.’
‘Are we better off looking in Chennai or following Alex?’ asked Li.
Paulo said, ‘I think Alex will need backup. He shouldn’t go in there on his own.’
‘But we’d better keep an eye on what’s going on here too,’ said Li.
‘Well, I’ll have to stay here,’ said Hex, ‘because I can track Trilok. I can track you guys too.’
‘Who else is up for a mystery train ride?’ said Paulo.
Li and Amber both leaped to answer: ‘Me!’
Paulo looked from one to the other. If he had to choose, who would he take?
But Li could see Amber was bored after sitting
around in the library. Unless specific skills were needed, they tried to share out the action equally. ‘You go,’ she said to Amber. Her mouth twitched. ‘Go and see the lovely eyes.’
It was easy to spot the courier: he had the blue plastic cool box balanced on his knee. Alex found a seat nearby and watched the drowned city slip past, then the peeling suburbs. The train stopped every ten minutes or so. By the second stop, the orderly squares of paddy fields were appearing; how quickly the city vanished. The water vanished too; no longer held on the surface by a layer of tarmac and concrete, it soaked away into the parched earth.
Just a few metres away, the courier sat, his trousers wet to mid shin, looking like an ordinary commuter.
Hex sent updates by text. Each one subtly changed how Alex was thinking about his target:
‘COURIER REMOVED EYES FROM MORGUE BODIES.’ Under that professional shirt and tie beat the heart of a grave robber.
‘FOLLOW 2 EYE BANK + SEARCH FOR B.’ I’ll follow you all right. I’m not letting you out of my sight. If I find you’ve got Bina . . .
‘P + A ON WAY.’ And I’ve got backup.
At the third stop, the courier got off. Alex waited, just in case the man knew he was being followed.
Then he sprang out as though he’d just woken up and found himself at his stop.
The platform had no roof. A small station building stood at one end and white cows swished their tails on the veranda. The air smelled of warm, wet vegetation and cow dung. Tufts of grass grew around a battered sign saying PERUNGALATTUR HALT.
Alex followed the courier through the station building and out to a corrugated-iron garage. He stayed well back, watching him with one eye while he texted the name of the station to the others. The courier unlocked a padlock on the garage door. He brought out a mud-spattered bicycle, fixed the cool box on the rack behind the seat and set off round the back of the shed.
Where was he going? There didn’t seem to be a road, although all around the ground was thick mud, so a road might have been hidden. Alex stepped cautiously towards the shed. Then he spotted a spur of railway track leading off the main track behind it. Tall weeds grew up between the sleepers; obviously it hadn’t been used for some years.
Alex texted another message to Paulo and Amber: ‘LOOK FOR SHED ON R. FOLLOW DISUSED SPUR.’
He hooked the phone back on his belt and set off on foot. His target was easy to follow; he kept to the spur line which sliced between the rice paddies. The sun was out and the paddies reflected a brilliant blue sky, but it was a lonely, featureless landscape. Only a few scrubby trees and bushes along the side of the track broke up the monotony of the view – they would just about provide cover if he needed it. Alex jogged at first to make sure he didn’t get too far behind, but once he was within two hundred metres of the target he slowed to a walk. That was far enough away to duck into the trees if the man looked back, but close enough to keep an eye on him.
The bike disappeared around a bend. What if it turned off while it was out of sight? Alex sprinted along in pursuit, his feet slipping on the muddy ground. But all was well: the track carried on in a straight line. In the distance stood a square building like a grey box. At first it looked tiny, like a shed, but as Alex drew closer he saw it looked like an old depot. An old depot that had been shored up – patched with new breeze blocks at the top and corrugated iron at the bottom. A window high up in the wall had been bricked up. The tracks ran up to a pair of rusted buffers in front of the building. The end of the line. Alex shuddered.
The target rode his bicycle round the side and disappeared. There must be a gate or an archway.
Alex crouched beside a tree and texted his new position to Paulo and Amber again. That done, he listened. There were no sounds of activity; no one came out to greet the courier. There seemed to be no security guards he had to get past. Most importantly, he wasn’t about to come straight out again – and run into Alex.
There was another, smaller building alongside the main one that hadn’t been refurbished. The corrugated iron was rusty and the brickwork old and decayed. It looked empty. Alex crept forwards and chanced a look into its dark interior. Just as he thought: bright patches of sky could be seen through holes in the roof. But it made an excellent observation point for the main building.
Alex crept in and hunkered down by a rusted hole in the corrugated iron wall. It was opposite the entrance. A square archway, big enough to admit a tall vehicle, led into a brick courtyard, where a couple of vans stood in front of a large set of doors. The vans bore a logo and a name: Vikram Medical Supplies. There was also a smaller copy of the logo beside the main front doors. The name seemed familiar. Why?
Then he realized. While he was waiting for Amber at the clinic, he had seen one of those vans making a delivery. That was an interesting connection. Of course, they might deliver to a lot of places, but it was a link nevertheless. And it obviously did more than collect eyes. What else might it collect?
Alex decided he had seen all he could from this observation point. He still hadn’t found a way to get in. He needed to look at some of the other faces of the building.
He ran across to the corner of the main building and peered round. A few metres away was an open window, at ground-floor level. Alex slid along the wall, moving quietly. A few metres away he stopped and listened very carefully. No sound came from inside the building. The room was probably empty. Alex decided he could chance it.
He peeked round the window frame. It was a lab – benches with microscopes, piles of papers and other assorted scientific equipment. And, next to the window, a white lab coat hanging on the back of a chair.
It would make an excellent disguise. Alex peered further into the room, looking for movement, shadows. There might be someone bent over one of those benches, working silently. But no one was there. Alex reached in through the window and grasped the coat. He hooked one shoulder off the chair, then the other. The door opened.
He was past the point of no return now. He whipped the coat out of the window and scooted away to the end of the building where no one could see him. Had he been spotted? He’d soon hear. He kept the coat rolled up in a bundle under his arm. But no one triggered any alarms.
He put the coat on, took several deep breaths and then confidently, calmly, walked in through the archway.
25
BACKUP
‘No trains to Perungalattur for two hours.’ Amber spat out the words. They had raced to the station by taxi, and while Paulo digested the latest updates from Alex, Amber had tried to get tickets. Now she was back – empty-handed and looking murderous.
But instead of being disappointed, Paulo looked delighted.
‘What?’ said Amber. ‘What’s good about that?’
Paulo took her arm and led her out of the concourse. Opposite the station a bored-looking man stood next to a row of motorbikes and a rack of helmets.
‘They’re Royal Enfields,’ said Paulo, his eyes glittering. ‘They were being made in the Second World War.’
Amber thought she’d seen bikes like that in black and white films. ‘Is an old thing like that really going to go anywhere?’
But Paulo had caught the owner’s eye. In moments he’d hired a bike and was steering it away from the stall by its handlebars, wearing two helmets on his arm like handbags. The wheels of the bike swished gently through the water.
Amber pulled on her helmet. Close up, the bike looked even less impressive: all scraped paintwork and exposed shock absorbers. The exhaust looked like a rusty water pipe. But Paulo was looking at the machine with undisguised love. ‘Couldn’t you get a supermarket trolley or something? It might be faster. Or a surfboard,’ Amber suggested.
Paulo straddled the bike and started the engine. It spluttered before settling into a regular thrumming. ‘Just get on the dream machine, babe.’
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Amber said as she got on behind him.
‘You’re navigating.’ Paulo handed her a map he’d pic
ked up inside the station. It was almost torn out of her hands as he gunned the engine and they shot off up the road.
Hex wished Li had gone with Paulo instead of Amber. Li had been pacing up and down the hostel room for the past half-hour, an irritated walk that said she’d been cooped up for too long. They all found surveillance hard – everyone preferred to be in on the action. But Li was going for an Oscar. What would Amber have done? She’d have been hopping up and down too, but somehow it would have been different.
‘Hasn’t he phoned anyone yet?’ said Li.
Hex looked at the mobile phone website for the umpteenth time. As soon as Trilok made or received a call they would know where he was. But until he did, they would wait.
Li didn’t even wait for Hex to reply. ‘Why isn’t he phoning people? He’s got a lot to do today. He must have evil henchmen out there waiting for his command.’ She hunched her shoulders irritably.
Hex shrugged but didn’t say anything. It was interesting how the tension got to them in such different ways. Li got hyper. He preferred to retreat into his own world, just be quiet, get on with it and not think about the boredom. But when the call came through, he’d zap into action.
Li paused by the end of her bed. Hex was making it clear that he would rather watch the website on his own. He wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, but Li felt she’d never really got through to him. Right now he was behaving like a real geek but she knew there was more to him than that.
She grasped the bedstead and rocked it with her hands. It should take her weight. She squared up to it, put her hands shoulder-width apart and, with a little spring, pulled herself up in a handstand on the rail. And stayed there.
‘Ah, that feels better. Action at last.’
Hex looked at her. Thank goodness she’d found something to do. ‘You’ve got to stay up there until Trilok phones someone.’
‘No sweat. That’s the first joke you’ve made for half an hour.’ Her voice sounded strained with the effort of holding the position.